I tried to see her, plead with her, showed her mybank account, I proposed to her again and again.All she said was to be “gentle with me”, and Ithought she might forgive me. Yes, she said, she did.

It was the headmaster lady with the nursery schoolwho said not to see her mother again. Ever. Savvy?So I came to this toboggan hill every day, espyingfrom a distance. Every stroller with a cane was her.

Absently, he gingerly climbed in the direction of thebench arrow: Seven trees with the saddest graffiti.

5. Seven Graffiti Trees

“Will| You| Marry| Me?|” and “|Be| My| Wife?|”They formed a coven of seven pine trees, sprayedbarks on their trunks, looking hoary in the lateblaze at sundown. Downhill, children’s ditties echoed.

Sir. Listen to me, Sir. Sidney Portier called out now.You will have to give me your home address, phonenumber, and show me an ID, right now. Please?He arched an eyebrow, and said: In a minute, sir.

He thought he sounded unctuous like Peter O’Toole’sDon Quixote de La Mancha. Under his breath now,he gobbled: I will be glad to write a novella about him,and his lost life and loves. Pentecostal, it dawned on him.

Those last three trees on the toboggan hill were his lastgraffiti: Will you be my wife? But he died. The bastard.

6. A Sylvan Prayer

He came down the hillock with a weary smile for Poitier.His hobo was being bundled then into a wailing ambulance.Bring me to wherever they bring his ice-cold, rock-hardcarrion, and I will tell you all I know in your cop car, son.

Before he entered the annoyingly blinking (G.I.)* police car,he looked at the hill rather tiredly; there were childrengawking at this weird bier-ceremony, two women herdingthem, a handsome lady with a cane, and a fetching woman

crying havoc to the nattering, wondering, puling, yelling, little children. She ordered: Back to the nursery. Now!He gently refused the protective palm of the black copcovering his bald pate; he charged Quixote-like into the car.

Sir, what did you say? Poitier asked impatiently. Praying,he said. Praying she will never see the seven trees again.

---ALBERT B. CASUGA05-04-12/ 05-05-12Mississauga, Ontario

Estoy tan llena de alegria para estar enamorado/ Contigo de nuevo. Too late, my friend. Nunca jamas!*---I am so full of joy to be in love with you again. Too late, my friend. Never ever again. (G.I.) – government issue.

This concludes the fictional element in my Graffiti Poems which I posted earlier in my literary blog. I am delighted to have gone back to that hillock to find an additional graffiti “Be My Wife” on the seven pine trees atop the toboggan hill at Glen Erin Park, on my neighbourhood on Fifth Line West, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada.

These are May Poems #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, and #12 in my poem-a-day exercise to keep Poetry alive online. “Sonnets manqué,” because they use the 14-line format sans the rhymes in the first three quatrains and the “volta” couplet as a final strophe.---ABC

The Author

ALBERT B. CASUGA, a Philippine-born writer, lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he continues to write poetry, fiction, and criticism after his retirement from teaching and serving as an elected member of his region's school board. He was nominated to the Mississauga Arts Council Literary Awards in 2007. A graduate of the Royal and Pontifical University of St. Thomas (now University of Santo Tomas, Manila. Literature and English, magna cum laude), he taught English and Literature (Criticism, Theory, and Creative Writing) at the Philippines' De La Salle University and San Beda College. He has authored books of poetry, short stories, literary theory and criticism. He has won awards for his works in Canada, the U.S.A., and the Philippines. His latest work, A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems was published February 2009 by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. His fiction and poetry were published by online literary journals Asia Writes and Coastal Poems recently.
He was a Fellow at the 1972 Silliman University Writers Workshop, Philippines. As a journalist, he worked with the United Press International and wrote an art column for the defunct Philippines Herald.